


Weilde W¯ærloga (Merlin Fanfic)

by AlexVidra05



Category: BBC Merlin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-13
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2018-12-14 19:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11789874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexVidra05/pseuds/AlexVidra05
Summary: The Weilde W¯ærloga, Lonely Drýmann, the Mânswica Warnung. They are all one person, one mysterious warlock who never shows his face. This warlock helps Arthur when a solo  patrol went wrong and he found himself in Gawant, chased by slave traders. What will Arthur do when he realizes the Weilde W¯ærloga knows Merlin, a man he once considered a friend?





	1. A Reminder of His Sins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OnceAgainMae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnceAgainMae/gifts).



> All main characters (Merlin, Arthur, Gwen, Gwaine, Percival, Guise) belong to the show BBC Merlin. I only own the plot, the disguise, and any characters you don't recognize from the show. There are a lot of Merlin fanfics out there, and I tried my very best not to copy anyone in anyway. I did think of the plot on my own, but, like every writer I know, I am inspired by many other Merlin fanfic, and by books/movies/TVshows. 
> 
> And a quick shout out to OnceAgainMae, my editor and best friend. She edits almost all of my stories, and is the first person to read any of my writings. Thank you so much for all your help!

    Arthur rode hard. He knew that he was now outside Camelot borders, but he could still hear the shouting of a dozen men behind him. He had run into a nasty group of slave traders while on a solo patrol, and hadn't been able to shake them. Up ahead, there was a large clearing. As he passed into it, he saw a man standing on the opposite side. He was cloaked, a hood casting a deep shadow over his face, preventing the King from seeing any features on his face. Whoever he was, didn't seem surprised at his arrival. On the contrary, he acted as if he'd been expecting him; he motioned for Arthur to join him. Though he was uneasy about getting close for fear of this man being with his chasers, he guided his breathless horse over to him and came to a stop.

    "There are slave traders coming this way, we must--" The man cut Arthur off.

    "I know. I'll deal with them, just stay behind me." His voice was quiet but commanding. Arthur did as he was told, but the man kept facing forward, waiting for the bandits to appear. He sounded strangely familiar, but the blond couldn't quite put his sword on it.

    "You're one man with no sword, and they are at least a dozen with bows and swords. You don't stand a chance," Arthur replied with a frown. Surely no one could be that stupid. Not even Mer--  _No._ _Stop thinking about him, it's been years_.  Four years ago, Arthur had banished his manservant and friend, Merlin, from Camelot, with the death sentence waiting if he returned. The reason; treason for lying to King Arthur and practicing magic within the walls of the castle, which was even worse then if he'd just lived and worked in the villages. Had Arthur regretted it? Yes. Absolutely. He had even gone as far as, a year into the warlock's exile, sending out his most trusted knights to search the neighboring kingdoms for him, but to no avail. Merlin had disappeared from reach, so Arthur had settled on trying to forget about the whole ordeal, which wasn't easy. Merlin was so involved in both Arthur's and the Kingdom's life that there were reminders everywhere. There was no sound of the raven-haired man running through the halls, nimbly avoiding other people as he dashed to Arthur's chambers with dinner. There was no "Rise and shine, Arthur!" or "Shake a leg, sire, loads to do today!" in the morning. No one to call him a prat, or a clotpole. No one to tell Arthur what he needed to hear whether he liked it or not, no one to always be there no matter what, no matter how dangerous the quest, or how boring the meeting. And it was painful. But Arthur pressed on. He had a kingdom to run, with or without Merlin.

    "I do not need swords or crossbows, Arthur. There is more to weaponry then sharp metal and wood." The man's voice cut his thoughts off.

Arthur backed his horse up in surprise upon hearing his name. Just then, the dozen men entered the clearing. Arthur drew his sword, glancing down at the man in front of him. He stood motionless as the angry yells drew closer. Then, all at once in the very middle of the small field, four riders fell from their steeds, as if pushed. Another five were thrown from their horses as the animals reared up in distress and fear. The last three reared a little before turning and taking off into the woods to the West, riders in tow. The now riderless, spooked horses took off in different directions, leaving nine men on the ground, confused. Soundlessly, the hooded man swept forward. After a moments hesitation, Arthur dismounted and followed suite. They came within ten feet and stopped.

    "So you are the slave traders, yes?" Hoodman said with the same soft and commanding voice. It was not a question. "Thought you'd just invade Camelot and try taking their most trusted knight?"

    Arthur almost protested that he was  not  a knight--He was a king for Camelot's sake! Then he thought better of it. If this man knew his name, then he knew he was a king. But he was smart enough to not go announcing to dangerous men that they had been hunting a king. If they didn't already know that, and they got away, they'd spread the word and Camelot would be in danger.

    "Bad decision on your part. He is under my protection."

    "And who are you?" One of the men sneered at the peculiar person in front of him as he stood up.

     _"Sit down, trader,"_  The mysterious man's eyes flashed gold and the trader was pushed to his butt by an unseen force. Arthur realized with a start that he was standing next to a sorcerer. "I am known by many names. Perhaps you'll recognize one. Some call me the Lonely Drýmann. Others, the Wielde W¯ærloga. Or, the Mânswica Warnung. Ring any bells?"

    Their faces said it all. They did know who he was, and by how pale they were, they would rather they didn't. With a whispered spell, eight of the men began choking and clawing at their throats, as if they couldn't breath. The Lonely Drýmann turned calmly to the ninth man, and Arthur almost felt sorry for him. He was pale and shaking all over, clearly frightened. "You will run back to whoever you serve and tell them this is the price for getting in my way, and for attacking my friends. Camelot is under my protection and is to be left untouched. Understand?" The man gave a nod. "Good. Now scuttle away, little man, and pray I don't find you again." As the choking men slumped into an eternal sleep, the final man got up and ran as fast as he could away from the sorcerer and 'knight.' Silently, the Lonely Drýmann watched him disappeared, waited a few seconds, and began walking between the dead bodies, making sure they were truly dead before turning back to Arthur.

    "I must apologize for doing that in front of you, but these men have been causing trouble longer then when you ran into them. They had to be dealt with."

    Arthur tried to see through the shadows over the man's face, but he had no success. His hooded outfit, which was a deep blue, like starless, cloudless midnight sky, looked comfortably tight, just loose enough to allow him to move freely and quickly should the need arise. There was armor, but was leather, not metal like a knight's. "It's all right, I understand. Had I been with my knights, we would have done the same. Who are you really? There's just something about you . . ."

    "That seems familiar?" He finished for him. Arthur thought that he might be raising an eyebrow. "Not surprised. There was a time you might have known me, Arthur, but that time is gone."

    "But I do know you. I've heard ofthe Wielde W¯ærloga. I have never actually seen you before, but I've heard many stories and rumors about you from fellow kingdoms."

    The blue-clad man tipped his hood back just enough to let Arthur see the sly smile on his lips. Arthur could see the scruff he was growing. "Yes, the Wielde W¯ærloga  **(Way-er-low-ga, we think)**   was always my favorite name. It's my preferred. I am popular for my ability to put a stop to bandits, and my talent for saving people and all that. You have not seen me, but I have seen you, King Arthur."

    "What? When?" Arthur asked, totally bewildered.

    "Oh, here and there, both in your kingdom and out. I have mastered the art of not being seen, my friend."

    "But why were you in my kingdom?"

    "I made a deal a few years back with a young lad to keep an eye on the kingdom, and certain people within. One of which is you."

    "But, Wielde W¯ærloga--"

    "Just W¯ærloga will do."

    "W¯ærloga, then, who is this lad?" Arthur asked.  Was it Merlin? Is he okay? Where is he?  His hopes sprung up at the thought.

    "A lad who is confused." W¯ærloga replied, a cold frost encasing his voice. "He seemed to think that you were worth his worry. But I am a man to my word, and he deserves as much, so I keep an eye out and make sure nothing big happens."

    "Why do you say he is confused?"

    "Because he didn't understand that when you threw him out, you threw his trust and friendship into a fire and watched it burn." The frost hardened to ice, but Arthur didn'tback down. He needed to know.

    "Who is he? What's his name?"

    "I think you know."

    "But why does he care? I threw him out, why does he care?"

    "He doesn't," W¯ærloga stated. He turned and walked back to Arthur's horse, its rider at his heels. He grabbed the reins and led both through the trees as he continued talking. "He used to. For the first year, he stayed close, scrying in a cave in case something happened. In case you redeemed yourself. Then . . . he gave up. Realized there was no point in waiting on you. Figured out that you hold the same views as your father, even if you're not as harsh. So he moved on. Traveled. Started learning more about his magic."

    "Have you talked to him recently?" Arthur asked, not even caring that W¯ærloga could be leading him to his death. He had a chance of finding Merlin; he was not going to miss out on it.

    "I guess you could say that. He was actually in this area, just a few days ago. Why do you ask?"

    "Because I want to talk to him. Explain things."

    The sorcerer stopped so suddenly that Arthur crashed into him before backing up a few steps as the shadowed face turned towards him.  "Explain things?  How do you  _explain_  backstabbing your best friend after he saved your life? How do you  _explain_ tossing him from your kingdom like last week's garbage? How do you  _explain_  not trusting the same man you've known for over five years? Do you realize this is the exact reason why he never told you? Because he was afraid of what you would do?"

    These questions stung, but Arthur hid it. Instead, he narrowed his eyes at the man. "You seem to know quite a bit about what happened."

    "Oh, I know what happened." W¯ærloga advanced, but Arthur refused to back up. They stood just inches apart, the sorcerer slightly taller then the king. "And you know why Iknow so much? Why I can say that I know more about him then you  ever  will? Because I accepted who he is and he trusts me. I trust him. It takes two to dance, Arthur. You were the one on the sidelines." He waited ten seconds, staring Arthur down with unseen eyes before turning and continuing to walk, still leading the horse. After three minutes of silent walking, Arthur spoke again.

    "Where are we going?"

    "The sun will reach the trees soon. It won't be safe for you to ride back to Camelot until morning. Besides, you and your horse need food, water, and rest. I am willing to let you stay with me for the night. I will provide what is needed for you and your horse and follow you back to Camelot's border in the morning. I am currently staying in a nearby cave by a small lake. Now, if we could finish this walk in silence, that would be great."

    Arthur took the hint.

    Ten minutes later, they arrived at a lake. Arthur looked around, trying to spot the cave W¯ærloga was talking about. W¯ærloga said nothing as he led him around a quarter of the lake where a pile of large boulders lay and came to a stop in front of them. Arthur was confused, to say the least. There was no room between any of the rocks that could lead to a cave.

    _"Âstellan mîn besettan orgilde swîge,"_  W¯ærloga said. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, it was like watching the distant horizon on a hot day. The rocks began to blur and move. It hurt his eyes to watch, but when Arthur risked looking, there was an opening to a cave. It wasn't a very large cave by the looks; the blond could see the back of it some fifteen feet away, but it looked very homey. There was a cot and a desk with a chair pressed against opposite walls, two trunks, a few baskets filled with food, water and herbs, the latter of which was on the floor next to the desk and the tunks pressed against the back wall. A few feet in front of the trunks was a fireplace dug in the ground with a whole in the ceiling to let the smoke escape. On the surprisingly smooth wall above the table was several maps of the surrounding kingdoms and lands, including Camelot, Caerleon, Merica, Essetir, Odin's Kingdom, Gawant, Daobeth, Tír-Mòr, Amata, and, these two caught Arthur off-guard, The Dark Tower and the Perilous Lands.

    "Have you been all these places?" Arthur asked in wonder as he stepped inside to get a better look. On each of the four maps containing all said places, there were ink marks. Lines from one place to another, sometimes with writing in another language, sometimes with symbols. There were some druid signs on certain parts of each map in most Kingdoms, surely marking where a druid camp was.

    "Yes. I spend much of my time traveling." W¯ærloga said from outside where he was tethering Arthur's horse. When it was silent for over a minute, Arthur turned to find the sorcerer no where in sight.

    "W¯ærloga?" He called, cautiously stepping out of the cave. When he turned his back on the lake to look at the forest, he saw him leading another horse, this one black as night.

    "This one's mine. His name's Valinth." He said as he tethered him next to Arthur's. "I think he and Torento will get along fine."

    "You know my horse's name." Arthur wasn't very surprised. "How much do you know about me?"

    Again, W¯ærloga let him see a sly smirk. "More then you'd be comfortable with. Come inside, have a seat, and I'll prepare some dinner. Actually," W¯ærloga said, going over to the fourth and fifth of the five baskets, "take these out to the horses, will you?" He handed the two baskets full of a mixture of hay, grass, and vegetable chunks to Arthur. With a nod, Arthur did as he was told. From inside the cave, he hearW¯ærloga say,  "Forbearnan,"  followed by the crackling of a fire. When he returned, W¯ærloga had a pot of water over the fire, already boiling, and was in the process of putting cut-up vegetables in the water.

    "So," Arthur said, sitting himself down on the chair, "can I ask a few questions?"

    W¯ærloga said nothing, but the King took it as a yes. "How long have you been a sorcerer?"

    "Since birth, but I'm not a sorcerer. I'm a warlock, much like Merlin. He explained it to you well enough. Born with it. It's my very being. I believe what Merlin said was, 'All warlocks are sorcerers, but not all sorcerers are warlocks.' I think that explains things very well, don't you?" W¯ærloga raised his head to look at Arthur. The fire glinted in his eyes and gave a faint glow to his face, but not enough to see much. He had sharp features, a start of a beard, and he could just barely see dark curly hair brush the warlock's eyebrows. But as he looked closer at the man in the rare moment of even slight clarity, he felt his stomach drop. The smirk looked familiar.

    "You look familiar . . . hang on. How did you know what Merlin said? That was exactly what he said!" Arthur was gripping his sword with white knuckles.

    "Because I was in the room when he said it."

    Arthur's mind was spinning, going through every name and face that was present.

 

 

_Merlin was kneeling before Arthur in the throne room, hands shackled behind his back. Behind him on either side were two relatively new guards that Merlin didn't know very well. Gwen was sitting on her throne, tears in her eyes._

_Arthur knew she would not stop crying for days after this._

_To the left of the thrones were the Knights of the Round Table. Leon was stoic, hands clasped tightly behind him._

_Arthur knew he was shaking._

_Percival was standing tall and stiff, but everyone could see the sadness in his eyes._

_Arthur knew he would not talk for days, maybe even months._

_Guise. The old man looked ten years older, if that was possible._

_Arthur knew he would act like he was okay. He knew he wouldn't be._

_Gwaine. Arthur wouldn't even look at the loyal drunkard. But he knew the anger he'd find if he risked a glance. And it would not be at Merlin, but at Arthur. Merlin and Gwaine were best friends-- something that Arthur sometimes found himself jealous of._

_Arthur knew Gwaine would refuse to speak with him for weeks after this._

_     And Arthur? Arthur was having trouble keeping a mask on as he stared down at the man in front of him, the man he once called friend. The man who had betrayed him, Camelot, and everyone in it. The liar. The  _ sorcerer. _  Arthur was disgusted. Confused. Angry. Scared. _

_"You have been accused of sorcerery." Arthur said, his voice quiet. Merlin looked up at him. Arthur almost lost his mask. There was no anger. No fear. It was worse. There was nothing. Expressionless. Empty._

_"I'm a warlock."_

_"You say it like there's a difference."_

_"There is. I was born with it. It's who I am. Sorcerers have to practice to master even simple spells, but I usually don't. All warlocks are sorcerers, Arthur. But not all sorcerers are warlocks."_

_Arthur was silent for a moment, staring down at his ex-servant._

_"Merlin, you have been accused of sorcerery, an act of which is punishable by death." Behind him, he could hear Percival holding back Gwaine. "However, I do not want that. As King of Camelot, I strip you of all duties to me, and to Camelot and banish you from my kingdom, with death being your prize if you return uninvited. You have the day to pack. If I or anyone sees you after dark tonight, you will be captured and killed. Take him away." Arthur turned away, staring at the three steps leading up to the thrones. He waited for the pleading, the yelling that always ensued after such a punishment. But there was none. There was only footsteps and shackles clinking together. At the last moment, Arthur turned and met his eyes. They were red andbrimming with tears, but there was no sadness. There was dejection. He was emasculated. And, just before he rounded the corner, a spark of anger._

_Arthur looked at his wife, who was full on crying now, a hand over her mouth. He looked at the knights. Gwaine was literally shaking with anger, the only thing keeping him from launching himself at Arthur being Percival, who looked shaken. Leon was pale, eyes staring at the spot Merlin had been kneeling._

_And what had Arthur done? He had scolded himself for being weak. He had forced himself to act as if he didn't care. He had hugged Gwen, led her up to their bed to rest, and continued about his day reading over papers._

 

    "Remembering that day, are you?" W¯ærloga asked, breaking Arthur from the memory. When he nodded, the warlock continued. "Yes, I remember how angry Gwaine was. I remember not recognizing the two knights that brought Merlin in. They were new, weren't they? I bet none of your more loyal knights, the ones Merlin was friends with, would bring him in. Or maybe you wouldn't let them. I remember the mask you wore when you mercilessly sentenced that poor boy to exile. You might as well have killed him, you know."

    "What? Why do you say that?" Arthur demanded, heart pounding. Merlin was alive, wasn't he? The warlock had said so. So what happened?

    "Relax, he's still alive. But he's not the same carefree man you knew. No, he's changed, and I don't think you'd like it. He's stronger and faster and more powerful then he's ever been before. But he's not as kind. He knows the limits, and tries not to cross them, but he knows how to intimidate. He knows how to act, and he does it very, very well. Sometimes even I don't recognize him." It was silent for a moment as the warlock put dinner together-- a different assortment of veggies in a watery soup.

    "I get that you're a man of your word, but why are you doing this? You could have sent me back during the night, or not taken care of my horse while still keeping your promise." Arthur said with a frown, leaning forward in the chair.

    For a moment, W¯ærloga said nothing. Then, "I think that some part of me pities you." When he saw the king's puzzled expression, he explained. "Merlin was loyal to you, loyal to a fault. He sacrificed so much for you. And you, you never saw his full potential. All you saw was a man who was willing to do as he was told. You saw someone who would dress you, feed you, clean for you. Yes, you tried to protect him, and saw him as a find at least part of the time, but you were so painfully oblivious about everything. There were so many times where anyone else would have realized who he really was. I mean, come on. Who believes they killed the Great Dragon with no carcass to prove it? Kilgharrah is at least a thousands tons of riddled annoyance, that doesn't just dissolve.

    "Arthur, you are a very loved king. You're loved by your people, you tend to choose peace with neighboring kingdoms instead of war, and are well-known for your general kindness. But even the best kings have faults. You follow your father when it comes to magic. You have seen horrible things had the hands of sorcerers, but you forget that it is just a weapon. Just like a sword or a crossbow. It can be used by good people for good things. What was it Merlin was accused of?"

    "Magic, but--"

    "No, what was he doing? Was he attacking someone? Was someone being hurt or killed by his magic?"

    "Well, no, he stopped a pile of logs from falling on some kids . . ." Arthur replied, somewhat sheepishly.

    "Then why did you exile him?"

    Only the bubbling of the stew could be heard as W¯ærloga stared at Arthur with eyes gleaming in the firelight, waiting for an answer.

    "Arthur, I need to know why you exiled him. Tell me." His voice was calm, but there was a threatening undertone that Arthur did not miss.

    "You know threatening the king is treason, right?"

    "You are not my king, and we are not in your land," he snapped.

    Taken aback by the sudden change in W¯ærloga's behavior, Arthur was quick to answer the question. "Because I had no choice! The people were scared, saying that he was the one to cause the logs to fall in the first place!"

    "And you would believe supposed liars over a trusted friend?"

    This, Arthur had no answer to. All he could do was keep eye contact with the warlock and hope for mercy. After thirty seconds or so, this was given when W¯ærloga turned his attention back to dinner, which was done cooking. He stirred in some spices before spooning them into a bowl, which he handed to Arthur, tossing him a spoon seconds later. "Eat, then sleep. Use my bed. I have things to do." With that, he got up and walked outside, where the sky was mere minutes from complete darkness. As he hesitantly ate, Arthur heard a saddle being fiddled with, followed by the mysterious man mounting his horse and galloping away out of sight. Arthur could only hope that he wouldn't be attacked while the warlock was gone.

 

 

    Gwaine and Percival stood outside of Camelot in the dark. It was their turn for the night shift as guards. They were talking somewhat tensely as they kept their eyes peeled, hoping for Arthur's return. He had left on an early solo patrol, and hadn't returned since, and everyone was nervous. Gwen, trusting her husband, decided that if didn't return by the following morning, they would send out a party to look for him.

    "Maybe he just got lost," Gwaine suggested for what had to be the 15th time that day. Percival was about to reply when the sound of galloping hooves stopped him. They both drew their swords and turned towards the sound. From the midnight shadows came a black horse with an equally dark rider. They could barely make him out-- his clothing and horse helped him blend in with the darkness around him. As he slowed and came within the circle of torch light, the two knights were able to see that he wore dark blue clothing with leather armor and a large hood, obscuring his face.

    "Sirs Gwaine and Percival, I have news of your King," He called, stopping ten feet away.

    "Who are you?" Gwaine asked.

    "I go by many names, the well-known being the Lonely Drýmann and the Weilde W¯ærloga, though I prefer just W¯ærloga."

    "I've heard of the Lonely Drýmann," Percival said, a hint of awe evident in his face.

    "Well I haven't. Or Weilde W¯ærloga," Gwaine complained, disappointed that his nightly tavern visits had finally failed to keep him updated.

    "You know him as Mânswica Warnung," Percival replied. "He's like a vigilante. He gets rid of bandits and slave traders, and even tracks down traitors for kings on occasion."

    "Oh, him." The other knight said with a nod. "What are you doing here?"

    "Telling you that your King, Arthur Pendragon, is safely under my protection. He will return by tomorrow's afternoon, at the latest. He's currently at my home in Gawant."

    "What the hell is he doing there, and why should we trust you? You're basically just a myth, we have no idea if you're the real Weilde W¯ærloga or not." Gwaine said, refusing to believe this mysterious man.

    "He was being chased by a dozen slave traders, who are now taken care of. I have nothing to prove that I am trust worthy, but I can prove who I am, if you will allow me." He replied, turning his head to look at the two of them. They glanced at each other before Gwaine nodded.

    From underneath the hood, they could see his eyes flash gold, and the knights were lifted off their feet. But it wasn't shaky, like they were hanging from something. It was like they were standing on the air itself. They felt sturdy and safe, if a little surprised. Then they were let down.

    "That hardly takes anything. I can do much more. This means nothing for trust, but do you now know who I am?"

    For a moment, it was silent. Then, Percival spoke. "I think you should speak with the Queen. She needs to know Arthur is okay."

    "Gwen, isn't it? If she will see me, I can explain what has happened."

 

 

 

    Gwen could hardly say she was happy to be woken in the middle of the night. She was tired, and was still worried about Arthur. It wasn't until the servant explained that there was a strange man here about the King. She was up in an instant, throwing on a dress and hurrying down to the throne room.

     When she got there, she was met by Percival outside, waiting for her. He told her who it was inside, and why he had come. Once she was caught up, he escorted her to the steps in front of the thrones. W¯ærloga stood waiting before them, Gwaine keeping a close eye on him.

    Once Gwen stood in front of him, he dropped to a knee in a bow. "My lady."

    "Please, stand up. What news do you have about Arthur?"

    "He's safe. Just needs to rest for the night, and he will be back tomorrow. When I am done here, I'll return to my home, where he is, and keep an eye on him. I will be escorting him to Camelot's border in the morning."

     "Why did you come here tonight? Surely you could have just brought Arthur with you." Gwen said, struggling to keep confusion off her face. W¯ærloga stood and tipped his head back just enough to let her see a smile. He glanced at Percival and Gwaine.

    "I am glad one of you can ask the right questions. I needed to make sure there were no slave traders in our path, as that it what brought Arthur to me in the first place. There was a dozen after him, and I let one go to spread the word that no one is to mess with your kingdom. He thinks Arthur is your most trusted knight. Should anyone know who he really is, I am positive they will try to keep him from returning in hopes of capturing and selling him. If it would assure you any more, you can send a few knights with me to better protect him. I'm living just inside the borders of Gawant. It's a five-hour trip if you ride hard."

    It was silent for a moment while Gwen pondered, her eyes never leaving the man's shadowed face. She couldn't help but feel that she knew this man. The way he held himself was somewhat intimidating, sure, but it was eerily familiar. And the way he talked, as if he knew both her, Arthur, and the knights personally . . . It made her wonder what his real name was. She took a deep breath before speaking. "Gwaine, Percival. I want you to accompany W¯ærloga back to Arthur. You'll stay the night with him, and join Arthur on his way back. When do you want to leave?" She asked the warlock.

    "As soon as possible."

 

 

 

    Gwaine and Percival followed behind W¯ærloga as they galloped through the dark forest, hardly able to see him. It was just their luck that the moon was bright and the sky was cloudless, providing some light for them. Overall, the ride had been silent. They were going too fast to be able to talk over the wind and hooves without shouting, so they all kept to themselves, much to Gwaine's dismay. For the majority of the trip, they alternated between galloping and moving at a slow pace in orderto give their horses some rest. Finally, after what seemed like eternity to the drunk, they came upon a lake. Around almost to the other side, they could just barely make out a pile of rocks in the moonlight that reflected off the water.

When they got the boulders, the knights saw Arthur's horse, and dismounted, tethering their horses next to his. Then they followed W¯ærloga in front of the rocks. After he muttered something beyond their comprehension, Gwaine's and Percival's sight blurred. When it cleared, they could see a homey cave. On the cot was a sleeping Arthur, boots removed and an empty bowl by the fire. For a split second, Percival didn't think Arthur was breathing, but then he saw the steady rise and fall of his armored chest.

    "Is he okay?" Percival asked.

    The warlock nodded. ''Just sleeping. You can lay out your stuff here for the night. Get some sleep before we leave at dawn."

    As the two knights laid out their sleeping rolls, W¯ærloga dished up the remainder of the soup in the bowl and sat himself down at his desk to eat, looking up at the maps.

    "So, what's your real name?" Gwaine asked. W¯ærloga looked over at him, unsure if the knight was attempting to mock him in some way. When he realized Gwaine was just curious, he said.

    "What, the Weilde W¯ærloga not good enough for you?"

    This got a smile out of both the knights as they settled down. "Nah. Stage names are great and all, but it's the real names that tell the stories." The drunkard said.

    "Wow, that was impressive," W¯ærloga said in surprise. Who knew Gwaine could get deep?

    Gwaine gave a nod and replied, with a slight smile, "Now why don't you impress me with your name?"

    "I'm not interested in good first impressions, thanks. You'll have to work for that."

    "Oh, come on. At least tell me where you're from."

    "Like where I grew up? That's my secret."

    Gwaine groaned. "Is everything a secret with you?"

    W¯ærloga laughed. "No. I can tell you that I am a very powerful warlock. I can tell you that the Druids call me Emrys. I can tell you my favorite fruit is strawberries. You just keep asking the wrong questions."

    Neither he nor Gwaine noticed Percival's shocked look as the other knight asked another question. "Hmm. What's your favorite color?"

    "Blue."

    "Have you always been this secretive?"

    W¯ærloga paused, as if thinking. "I guess you could say that."

    "Do we know you?"Percival suddenly asked. W¯ærloga turned his head towards him.

    "Why do you ask?"

    "Because . . . You seem so comfortable with the King and his two knights of Camelot."

    The warlock glanced at the sleeping form of Arthur, and his shoulders sagged ever so slightly. "You think that I know you because I am not afraid of three people who, if given the chance, would chop my head off?"

    Immediately, Gwaine started protesting.

    "You think we would do that? Almost all of us have had some good experiences with magic, we wouldn't kill someone just because they use magic."

    "But you would throw them from their home and promise to kill them if they return." W¯ærloga replied evenly.

    "How do you know what happened to Merlin?" Gwaine asked, clearly shocked.

    "I was there when it happened."

    "But only certain people were allowed to be there when Arthur sentenced him," Percival said, obviously trying to remember who exactly was there that day.

    "No one saw me, Percival, at least not how you see me now."

    "So you were disguised?" Gwaine asked. W¯ærloga stared at him for a moment.

    "I suppose." W¯ærloga wondered if he was saying too much. Part of him wanted to show them who he really was, at the same time he knew he wouldn't be able to force himself. He would have to wait until they guessed who he was. "That's enough talking for tonight. You have another three or four hours to sleep before we head back to Camelot." He turned away from them, settling in the chair to finish eating. To his surprise, it wasn't long until the knights' even breathing joined Arthur's.

 

 

    The next morning, W¯ærloga woke everyone just after dawn. It was chilly, and fog hung low around the lake as they mounted their horses and set off, W¯ærloga in the lead. He felt unnaturally tense, like something bad was going to happen. He considered telling Arthur and the others, but he knew they'd wave it off as nerves or something, just like they used to. Still, he kept his senses alert, both physically and magically.

    The group rode at a fast pace. Within the hour, they passed into Camelot's borders. W¯ærloga, however, knew that bandits and traders liked to hang around borders, so he kept leading until they were two hours into the land before slowing. He turned to speak with the others when an arrow whizzed by, inches from the warlock's face. He jerked back in his saddle and whipped around, searching for the owner. How did he not sense it? Out of nowhere, over two dozen men charged at them, all bearing swords, maces, or crossbows. Arthur, Gwaine and Percival dismounted instantly, unsheathing their swords. W¯ærloga stayed on his horse and used magic to help, using both verbal and non-verbal spells.

     _"Acwence þa bælblyse,"_   he whispered. Four of the attacking men were thrown several feet backwards. Branches were falling left and right, always hitting the enemy.Men were being thrown around by an unseen force. Just as the tide started to turn in their favour, W¯ærloga felt a blinding pain in his side. He looked down to see one of the men standing next to his horse, hand still curled around around the hilt of the dagger that was buried in the warlock's body, right between the side gaps of his leather armor. Mind racing, he somehow managed to think of a spell.  _"Gesweorce, hinqe beclyppe,"_   he muttered. The man's nasty grin melted into fear when he was unable to breath. He let go and stumbled back, clawing at his throat. W¯ærloga took a shuddering breath. For a moment he was hunched over in his seat, trying to regain his composure before he carefully straightened and turned his attention back to the battle. The king and his knights now had the advantage, and were just killing off the last few people. All three were panting as they inspected the area, checking for any survivors.

    "Any of you hurt?" W¯ærloga called.

    "No, we're okay. But we should get moving." Arthur replied

    "Good. We're about two hours away from the castle. Can you make it on your own?"  Just hold it together until they leave. Keep it together.  The pain made it hard to focus, and he almost didn't catch what Arthur said next.

    "I thought you were only taking us to the border."

    "I was." Deep breath. "But that's usually . . . where men like this," he gestured to the bodies littering the ground, "like to hang around."  _Don't pass out._  "Was hoping to avoid something like this." He felt himself sway dangerously in his saddle before falling sideways. Arthur lunged forward, dropping his sword, and caught him before he hit the ground.

    "W¯ærloga? What the hell, you have a dagger in you!" He lowered the man until he was laying on the ground.

    "Oh have I? I hadn't noticed," he muttered. "I think the pain gave it away . . ." His eyes fluttered closed.

"W¯ærloga? Hey, wake up." He waited, praying the man would wake up. Feeling as though he had no other choice, he reached out to remove the hood.Just then, the strangest feeling overcame him. He felt like he was going to sneeze, but it wasn't quite that. His arms felt heavy, and his eyes were closing.

Then, darkness enveloped him with a warm welcome.

 

~~~

 

    When Arthur woke up, the first thing he felt was a rock poking painfully at his side. With a groan, he said up, trying to think around the growing headache. Gwaine and Percival were asleep as well. Then, two things came to the king's mind almost in unison: A spell of some sort had been put on them, and Wielde W¯ærloga was no where to be seen.

    As he got to his feet, the knights began groaning and sitting up.

    "What the hell just happened?" Gwaine asked as he stood, looking around in confusion.

    "And where is W¯ærloga?" Percival added. The three were quiet for a moment, all looking in different directions, hoping to spot the warlock.

    "One thing's for sure," Gwaine finally said.

    "He didn't want us to see his face," Percival finished his friend's thought with a nod. They both turned to Arthur.

    "What now, Princess?"

    Arthur was quiet, trying to gather his thoughts. They were right, of course. W¯ærloga was in no hurry to reveal his identity. "We continue back to Camelot. I have a feeling we won't find him if he doesn't want us to."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in this,I did follow the script of an episode (I don't remember which one) until about the middle of the chapter. So not everything is entirely my idea.

    The three were left to wonder about the strange warlock for months. When they returned, Arthur explained to his wife what had happened, while Gwaine and Percival were left to tell the rest of the knights. Everyone agreed that he was strange, and that Arthur, Gwaine and Percival were lucky to have seen and talked to him. Most people thought he was a myth to scare away thieves.

    "I've heard some 'orrible things 'bout tha' sorcerer," Helewys, a senior knight said one evening while they all ate together.

    "And what have you heard?" Elyan asked, interested.

    "E's a murderer," Helewys replied. "Kills without reason. Jus' for the fun of it. My brother saw 'im once, just a year 'go."

    "And what did your brother see?" Leon asked, sensing more to the story.

    "Saw 'im run a poor lad through with a sword," Helewys answered. 

    "'N my brother said there was no reason for 'im to go around stickin' people with swords."

    Percival frowned and spoke for the first time that night. "But why would he use a sword? If he's a powerful warlock, wouldn't he have just used magic?"

    "And why would he kill an innocent in the first place?" Leon added.

    Helewys just shrugged in reply. "E's a sorcerer. Rotten to the core, the 'ole lot of 'em."

    Gwaine, Elyan, Percival, and Leon all glanced at each other. Only they--Gwen, Guise and Arthur--knew that Merlin had magic. They knew that not every sorcerer was bad.

    Just then, a panting servant burst through the door and looked at Percival and Gwaine. "Sirs Percival and Gwaine," he said between breaths, "King Arthur demands your presence--right away."

    The two stood and ran after the servant, who led them to the throne room. When they got there, they found Arthur pacing in front of the throne. WHen he didn't say anything, Gwaine spoke. "Arthur? What's wrong?"

    He finally stopped and looked at them. The look surprised them. He looked scared, his face pale and glistening with sweat. "Do you remember Wielde W¯ærloga?" 

   Gwaine snorted. "Yeah, of course."

    "He's been spotted on the borders of Camelot." 

    "And? We know he's a good guy." 

    "And he was with Morgana."

    The room was silent for a good minute before Arthur continued. "I don't know what this means, but if they truly allies, then it could mean war on Camelot." 

    "But he said he wanted Camelot safe," Percival said. 

    "We don't know him, Percival. He could have been lying. He could have been sent by Morgana to spy on us. He told me himself that he had been in and out of the kingdom without anyone knowing. He could know everything about us. And it's been months since we've seen him. Morgana could have convinced him that we are the enemy. Our previous views on magic is common knowledge. If he sees us as an enemy, there will be no telling how much destruction there will be."

    "I think I should go out and talk to him." Gwaine suddenly said. The others both looked to him. 

    "What?"

     "I think I should go out and talk to him," he repeated. "We need to figure out exactly what is going on. Clearly, they can't come here without being attacked. There's something we're missing."

    "Who's to say they won't attack you?" Percival asked.

    "No one. But it has to be done."

    Arthur paused, looking at the knights. "I'm going with you."

    "No," the knights said in unison.

    "They might attack, and Camelot needs you here. If this does end up being a war, the knights need you here to lead them. I'll handle myself."

    Arthur didn't look convinced, but he nodded. "All right. If you're not back in two days, we're coming after you, though."

    Gwaine nodded and turned to prepare to leave.

    When he was out of sight, Arthur turned to Percival. "No one's to know about this yet. We don't know exactly what is going on, and we can't have the knights panicking for no reason."

    Percival nodded. "Of course." He paused, then asked, "Sire, can I ask something?" 

   Arthur frowned at his hesitance. "Yes, of course. What is it?"

    There was a moment of silence where Percival seemed to be trying to collect his thoughts. "Sire, when we met W¯ærloga, he seemed . . ."

    "Familiar?" Arthur finished. Percival nodded. "Yes, I thought so too."

    "And some things he'd said; He said he was there when it happened, and that he was disguised." 

   Slowly, Arthur realized what his knight and friend was proposing.      

    "You're saying . . ."

    "I think it might be Merlin."

    Arthur shook his head. "No. Merlin would never kill. The first time I met W¯ærloga, he killed eight men without a second thought. Merlin is a gentle man-- he can barely stand hunting! He would never do that."

    Sensing the end of the conversation, Percival nodded and left.

  
  


 

    W¯ærloga stood outside a tent on the edge of Camelot, waiting to be allowed in. Two years ago, he stumbled upon Morgana, weak and hurt from a bandit attack. Hesitantly, she had helped nurse him back to health. In his time spent with her, he found himself slowly defusing her anger, to the point where he could almost believe their past had never happened. That she was still King Uther's ward. They became friends, leaning heavily on each other for a while in order to survive. Then, as W¯ærloga gained more popularity, Morgana convinced him to travel and earn money. Though he stayed in touch, he hadn't seen her in many months. He paced in front of her tent, nervously excited. He had started thinking of her as a sister, someone to help ground him.

    "Enter."

    Lowering his hood, he stepped inside. "Morgana. Good to see you," he greeted with a smile. She wore a simple black dress, her hair up in a braided ponytail.

    "Merlin! It's been so long. How are you?" She asked with a warm smile. She stood and went over to give him a hug. Merlin returned it gladly.

    "I've been well. And you?"

    "Splendid. How's Camelot?"

    "It's doing well. Nothing seems amiss so far." He took on a more serious look. "Are you sure of what you have been told? Is there any chance at all that you could be misinformed?"

    Morgana sighed and sat down, gesturing for Merlin to take the other chair. "No. There's no chance. I have checked myself, and verified that it is true. Odin wants to wage war on Camelot. More specifically, on Arthur. And by the looks of it, there's no stopping him."

    "What reason does he have? I thought Camelot and Odin's kingdom were on good terms."

    "That was years ago. Since you left, I've been told that Odin killed Uther, and Arthur killed Odin's son. There has been tension rising for months."

    "So do you know any details about what they're planning? If we can figure out what they're planning, we have a chance at stopping a possible war."

    "All I know is that Mithian's involved." Morgana replied.

    "Mithian? What has she got against Camelot?" Merlin asked in confusion. 

    "I don't know, but I think you should figure out what's going on. I fear that she's part of setting a trap for Arthur-- one he won't be able to resist."

 

 

 

  
   Merlin, hood up and once again the Wielde W¯ærloga, rode towards Camelot at a fast pace. Within three hours, he arrived in Camelot in the early hours of morning. When he could see the gates, he slowed his horse to a stop and dismounted. With a golden flash of his eyes, he could see past the stone walls, into the citadel. There, he could see Arthur, a dozen knights, Guise, Mithian, and an old lady all preparing to leave. W¯ærloga snapped his vision back to where he stood outside the walls. Whatever was happening was obviously a big deal. With a nervous sigh, W¯ærloga turned to check on his horse while he waited for the group to leave. What could Mithian possibly have planning? Who was the old lady, and why was Guise with them? W¯ærloga thought long and hard about this until he heard a thundering of hooves leave the safety of Camelot. He stood and mounted Valinth. With an affectionate rub on the horse's neck, the warlock urged him into a gallop, following after the group.    It didn't take long for W¯ærloga to realize where Arthur was going: The Anceint Tomb of King Lother. With a sick feeling in his stomach, he veered away from the group, using his magic to find a more direct route than them. If he was lucky, he would get there before them and be able to scout out the place and rid it of any human dangers that await.

  
    Turns out, W¯ærloga wasn't so lucky. When he arrived, half the knights stood outside the tomb, surrounded by nearly two scores of Odin's men. The warlock quietly led his horse to a well-hidden area and let the reins fall as he tried to decide what to do. First, he had to know what was going on in the first place.

  
    He inched closer until he could hear Odin's men giving the knights of Camelot orders to put their swords down. Then, he whispered, _"Dydrian st¯ælan wægn wôðbora."_ His eyes flashed, but nothing seemed to happen. Despite this, W¯ærloga stood with confidence and began walking towards the entrance of the tomb. He slowed as he neared, as to not be heard by the two guards, but didn't seem to hear nor see him as he passed by. He navigated quickly through the halls, following the sound of talking. As he neared, he could make out Arthur talking.

    "So be it. But understand this, Odin. You kill me, and you'll have all of Camelot to answer to."

  
    "Camelot is nothing without its king," Odin replied.

    Arthur chuckled. "Then you don't know my knights. They will hunt you, and they will find you. And they will not rest until they're done."

  
    "I will deal with your knights soon enough. But now, your time has come."

    W¯ærloga stepped into the room, unseen by all, and watched as Odin raised his sword to cut Arthur's head from his body. The warlock dropped to a crouch and shouted _, "Ic þe bebiede þæt þu abifest nu!"_ and slammed his hand onto the floor. The entire place began shaking, pebbles and dust raining down from the ceiling. W¯ærloga quickly made himself visible as Arthur, Percival, and another knight fought off Odin and his men. Mithian stumbled towards him, trying to avoid the falling stone.

  
    "Come on, this way!" The sorcerer yelled, putting an arm around Mithian to guide her and her father out. Once they were a ways down the hall, he turned to help fight Odin's men. "Arthur, let's go!" He yelled, waving at the king. Arthur, followed by the other two knights, ran after the others. All of the men were already dead or unconscious, but the old lady was still there. Her eyes flashed a dirty shade of gold and W¯ærloga was thrown back against the wall.

    With a gasp, he retaliated by using a stronger spell than her's to throw her up and back, so her head hit the ceiling with a sickening crunch! before falling to the floor motionless. He sprung to his feet and ran out, trying to ignore the bruising on his back.

    He caught up easily with the others. As W¯ærloga led Arthur, Rodor, Mithian, and the two knights on, half a dozen of Odin's men began catching up behind them.

    "Leave me," Rodor panted, stopping next to tree to catch his breath.

    "That's not gonna happen. You're the reason we're here," Arthur said.

  
    "Leave me. Save Mithian."

    The men were catching up fast. Arthur looked at Mithian and her father. "Follow the ridgeline."

  
    "What about you?" Rodor asked.

    "We'll lead them the other way," W¯ærloga answered.

  
    "And who are you?" Mithian asked.

    "No time for explanations now. Get going," Arthur said.

  
    "No--" She was cut off by Arthur.

    "This is between me and Odin. You need no further part in this." Arthur nodded at Percival, who led the father and daughter away with the younger knight helping Rodor.

  
    Arthur now led the way downhill into the narrow path between cliffs. They could hear the pounding of footsteps behind them as the two came upon a dead end. The only way was up, but it was too steep for them to climb quickly enough without falling. Panting, they both turned to face Odin and his men.

    One of the enemy knights made to run forward, Odin stopped him. "No! I want to do this myself!"

  
    Arthur advanced with a determined look on his face. Neither Odin's men nor W¯ærloga did anything but watched as the two kings fought. The warlock knew that it was not his place to interfere this time, with magic or otherwise. Within moments, Arthur had Odin on the ground weaponless, with his sword at the older man's throat.

    "Arthur! Stop." W¯ærloga said, effectively bringing Arthur's sword to a halt. "Think about what you're doing. What good will this achieve? How many times have you talked about uniting this land? Will killing this man bring that dream any closer?"

  
   There was a moment of silence before Arthur spoke. "He's right. This isn't the answer."

    "Finish it. Finish it and be done," Odin said.

  
    "And what then?" Arthur asked. "Your people will seek revenge. There will be a war without end."

    "There is no other way."

  
    "There is another way. In return for your life, you must restore Rodor to the throne of Nemeth."

    "Even if I agreed, it would solve nothing," Odin snapped. "What about us, Pendragon?"

  
    "A truce," Arthur said instantly, "binding out kingdoms to peace."

    "Never."

  
    "Is this what you want?" Arthur demanded, leaning closer and pressing the sword harder against Odin's neck. "Dying here, now, knowing you condemned this land to war? Odin, you cannot let it end like this. The blood will never wash off."

    "You killed my son." He hissed.

  
    "You killed my father!" Arthur shouted. "We have both lost much at the other's hand," the blond continued in a calmer tone. "Let's not lose anymore. I am offering you the chance to end this--take it." He stepped away and threw his sword into the ground, leaving it swinging as he looked back at Odin and held out a hand.

    "Take it."

  
    The tension in the air thickened with each second that Odin spent staring up at the younger king, eye twitching.

    "So be it." He slowly raised his arm and grasped Arthur's. "A truce it is."

  
    He rose to his feet as Arthur let out a relieved sigh and smiled.

 

 

  
    W¯ærloga, Arthur, and Odin with his men went their separate ways: The latter promising to return to their own kingdom and give back Nemeth to Rodor.

    W¯ærloga led the way to the rest of the group, using his magic to see the path ahead and meet up with them.

     "Arthur!" Leon called when he saw them. "Good to see you alive!" He and the rest of the knights went over to converse with their king as he explained what had happened. From where he stood a few meters away, W¯ærloga saw Gwaine pull away from the group and walk over to him.

    "Gonna tell me your name yet?" The knight asked, coming to a stop next to him. The warlock gave a dramatic bow.

    "Wielde W¯ærloga, at your service."

    Gwaine groaned. "Fine, be that way."

    W¯ærloga let him see a smile as he straightened. "Tell me, Gwaine, where were you? You didn't leave with King Arthur."

    "No, I was following you, mate. We thought you were with Morgana, so I was sent to talk to you. Then I saw you following Arthur, and I followed you. That was a nice trick, by the way, causing an earthquake."

    The warlock bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement to the complement. "You did well with your sword, as always. So what was the cause of all this?"

    "Odin captured Mithian and her father and forced them to lead us to him," Arthur answered, coming to a stop next to the two men.

    "And how did he do this?"

    "There was a sorcerer with them, the old lady. She kept Mithian in check."

    W¯ærloga frowned. "Why did she side with Odin? Surely she knew that a sorcerer was no match for Camelot."

    "She said something about Morgana disappearing. And had it not been for you, W¯ærloga, I would be dead by now."

    The warlock shook his head. "Your knights would have figured something out. Speaking of Morgana, I've been told that I was spotted with her. This is true."

    Arthur's hand drifted to his sword, a motion that was not missed by W¯ærloga, who was quick to continue. "She has changed, sire. She is not the wretched witch you're used to. I have defused her anger over the years, and she was prepared to help me in securing Camelot's safety." Arthur still didn't look convinced. "I see you don't believe me. Perhaps this is something we should talk about within Camelot."

     Arthur nodded. "Agreed. You'll follow us back, and you'll explain what the hell is going on."

 

 

 

  
    Back in Camelot, Merlin waited in an empty room, ignoring the guards that watched him as he paced the length of the room. It was painful being back in Camelot, in full view. People knew he was here. By now, servants and cooks will be whispering and spreading rumors about the cloaked man. As he waited for Arthur, he thought about what the king had told him.

_".... something about Morgana disappearing."_

    What did that mean? Was she once an ally of Morgana? _Or still is._ The thought lingered in the back of his mind. He would be lying if he said he thought she was done with her old ways. Sure, she wasn't as bad, but there was still the chance that she still sought the throne of Camelot. There was still a chance that this whole thing was an act, put on in a desperate attempt to get what Morgana wanted.

    But that just didn't make sense to W¯ærloga. Morgana wasn't that patient. She would not put on a play for four years, when she could simply storm the kingdom. By now, she knew that Merlin had played a large part in keeping her at bay. She could have attacked at any moment-- but she didn't.

    "Wielde W¯ærloga." Arthur's voice rung out, almost making the warlock jump. He turned away from the window to look at the king.

     "Sire."

    "Please, sit down." Arthur gestured to the table with two chairs. They both sat, Arthur obviously on edge while W¯ærloga seemed completely at ease.

    "Explain why you are allies with Morgana."

     W¯ærloga took a long slow breath. "There was a time when I wasn't as strong as I am now. When I wasn't so eager to live. She nursed me back to health, and we began helping each other. I helped her further her magic for good rather than evil, and she gave me connections to help travel and become popular. I traveled around, helping royalty and wealthy people. In return, I kept food on the table and clothes on my back. She has softened, m'lord. Morgona is no longer your enemy."

    Arthur sighed, clearly disbelieving what W¯ærloga claimed. "So why did you show up at the tomb?"

    "Because you were in need."

    "You say that, and yet just a few hours ago, you said that you were certain my knights would have thought of something." Arthur replied, finally sitting back in his seat.

    W¯ærloga nodded. "Yes, m'lord. I'm sure they would have thought of something. Whether or not they would in time is debatable."

    Arthur could almost hear the smirk in the sorcerer's voice. But he ignored it. Arthur studied him, trying to detect lies through the shadows. "Why do you hide your face?"

    "Because I am not supposed to be here."

    With a frown, the king then asked, "What is that supposed to mean?"

    "I mean you threw me out. Banished me. Exiled me. However you want to word it. No hard feelings, I'm over it."

    Arthur stared at him, somewhat pale. "Who are you?"

    W¯ærloga didn't say anything. He couldn't. How could he? Arthur would have him killed faster than he could think of a spell.

    Then Arthur popped he million coin question. "Are you, or are you not Merlin?"

    It was silent for a full minute as W¯ærloga struggled to find his voice. When he spoke, Arthur was surprised at the difference. He was no longer the calm and collected Wielde W¯ærloga, but a shocked, sick-sounding boy.

  
    "I . . . am."


End file.
